


Doggerel Style

by fannishliss



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Strumpet
Genre: F/M, Fobwatch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-16
Updated: 2011-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-26 15:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishliss/pseuds/fannishliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>  Nine goes through the Chameleon Arch and ends up as Strayman. Rose finds it hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doggerel Style

**title: Doggerel Style**  
author: [](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/)**fannishliss**    
pairing: Strayman!Nine/Rose  
rating: NC17  
word count: 4900  
warnings:  explicit language, explicit sex, light dominance play; doggerel

Summary:  Nine goes through the Chameleon Arch and ends up as Strayman. Rose finds it hard.

Acknowledgments:  No money is being made off this fic.  The character of Strayman was played by Christopher Eccleston in the movie _Strumpet_ (2001, BBC and Destiny Films), dir. Danny Boyle, wr. Jim Cartwright.   The Doctor and Rose belong to the BBC. Thanks to the gutterites without whom I wouldn't have known to seek out this great little movie!

~*?*~

Working as a shop girl at Henrik's had been like a dream. Now she was serving chips to dirty old men in the most depressed part of a depressed Northern city. 

"Oi! You call this food, do you?  I'd like to see you eat this!"  The fat man at the table leered at her.  Nasty brute. 

"I just bet you would," Rose grumbled under her breath.

She came round the counter, intending to remove the offending chips and kindly ask the gentleman not to grace the establishment with his presence any longer, when he stood up and made a grab for her, meaty hands surprisingly fast.

With no warning, Strayman was between her and the man, a bestial growl rumbling dangerously from his throat.  His hands round her waist were strong but gentle as he whisked her behind him and stood staring the man down, growling loudly.  

The man backed away, not willing to risk having his throat torn out by the smelly man in the dirty coat.  He hocked loudly and spat as he backed toward the door.  Strayman barked, the guttural noise echoing in the small room.  The locals shifted in their seats but did nothing.  They knew Strayman by now and tolerated his eccentricities.  Outside, his dogs took up the barking, harrying the disgusting man as he passed.

Strayman whirled round, brilliant blue eyes assessing her for harm. 

"I'm okay, really," Rose said, trying to calm him.

He peered closely at her, then stood down, his face going slack.  "Creme egg?"  he offered, producing the treat from the depths of his coat. His hand was stained with the rainbow imprints of his Sharpies.

"Thanks," Rose smiled gratefully, pocketing the egg to share with him later. 

His simple smile was so beautiful that it broke Rose's heart.  To see the Doctor reduced to this kind, brilliant, broken human being — it hurt.  How much longer?

His coat-tails whirling, he was out the door, his countless dogs swirling away from the window as he strode away. 

Sighing, Rose cleared the table and wiped it down.   Hours to go, this shift. 

~*?*~

"The Tardis will let you know when the threat is gone," he'd promised, calm and sincere.

"How long will you have to hide?" Rose wanted to know. 

"Every Time Lord has a mental signature —  the Jargraveen have enough time sensitivity to track my ripples."  He raised his eyebrow at her, daring her to smile.  She bit her lips together, trying to be good.  "Once I go human, that signature will stop.  It just won't be there.  They'll give up after a while."

"And why do we have to go to Manchester?"  Rose said, with a sad frown. 

"I don't want the Jargraveen nosing round the Powell Estates—  there's already enough of my signature there for those bloodhounds to smell at for weeks.  We've got to go somewhere neither one of us has any connections."

"Right.  And you can't give me a bagful of money why?" she whined. She knew she was being unfair, but really. 

"It'd be stupid to go through this whole chameleon process and then log into my UNIT accounts.... and no sonicking ATMs, getting yourself locked up."

She couldn't resist the confidence beaming at her from those gorgeous blue eyes.  If he thought she could do it, she'd bloody well do it. 

"Well, it's no Saturday in the park, but, I'm up for it, yeah," she said.

"Good girl!" the Doctor praised with a wide grin, and Rose couldn't help the warmth that spread through her at his easy words. 

~*?*~

The dogs barked in greeting and pooled around her as she let herself in.  It wasn't as though the door were locked.  Her Tardis key hung on its chain round her neck, a promise that this wasn't forever.  The reek of dog food and dog bodies filled her nostrils as she walked into the dim and dirty abode.

"Strayman?" she called, but there was no answer. 

The main room was empty, as was the kitchen.  Two or three dogs looked up at her alertly but didn't move from their huddle on the floor, polished clean by dog tongues — Strayman didn't bother with bowls, emptying their food straight from the tin onto the floor.

She went upstairs.  Odds were he was up in the garret, covering the walls with the bits of himself that came through in dreams and the random phrases his human mind pieced together.  

Rose washed her face at the sink and sighed with joy at the feel of the hot, clean water.  The bath was relatively clean, and that was a blessing.   Rose had to smile at the memory of Strayman clearing all the old junk out of the tub and finishing the job with a pushbroom. The water was hot and  that was enough for Rose at the end of a long day.

He also kept the dogs out of her bedroom, so it stayed as nice as she could make it.  She lay down atop the covers and waited for him to make his appearance.   It usually took him a few minutes to wind down from his frenzied scribbling after the dogs let him know she was home.

"Rose," he said happily, a whirl of coat in her door.  He never knocked. 

"Hi," she said, smiling.  "Have you had tea?"

"Nah. Waited for you, didn't I?  Tennent's and Rich Tea biscuits.  I'd think you'd had enough of chips today, eh?" 

"Yeah, pretty much," Rose smiled. 

Downstairs, at the low table where they usually ate, Strayman popped the cans and broke open the package of biscuits in a spray of crumbs. 

"Biscuits and beer, have no fear!"  he crooned tunelessly.  Rose smiled. 

"You got all you need, lager and feed!" he continued, watching intently for her reactions.

"Long day, for low pay!" she grumbled, smiling, and he jumped to his feet. 

"Oh!  Almost forgot!  I won at racing today!"

"Did you do well?" she asked.  It was the one way the Doctor had rigged up to supplement their income.  He'd given Rose a chart of racing outcomes and put in enough losers so that no one would get suspicious.   Strayman often emerged from the racing establishment brandishing a wad of cash, but no one begrudged him his luck, mad as he was.

"Oh, aye.  Here — " he reached into his coat and pulled out a wad of bills,  nearly three hundred pounds. 

Rose congratulated him, handing it back, but he refused it.  "Don't you want it?" she asked.  He gave her all the winnings and then nicked them back a little at a time. He had very clever fingers and seemed to prefer it that way.

"Nah.  Druther share it,"  he said.  "I'd share all of it till it was gone.  Money's funny, too bitter, I like honey."

"I like honey, too," Rose said,  remembering the warm honey smell of the Doctor's hugs. Tears filled her eyes. As the days wore on and the Tardis key lay cool between her breasts, more and more she was too weary from her longs days on her feet to take comfort that the ordeal would soon be over.  This sweet, strange human he'd become — he was the same man, he was fantastic in so many ways, but so different. He didn't remember himself, he didn't remember her, and he stank, unwashed, of human sweat and the grime that rubbed off on him from the dogs.  Rose guessed they could smell his unconditional love.   A new one turned up every other day, it seemed, but truthfully, she'd given up counting.

"Rose, don't cry.  You're my flower, every day, every hour, unstoppable power, the bad wolf in my bower..." he recited, tenderly.  

Rose stared deep into his dear, clear, befuddled eyes, blinking away her tears.  "Thank you," she said.  She reached for his hand, all smeared with colors from the Sharpies he was constantly scribbling with. 

That achingly familiar, long-fingered hand, strangely hot, returned her grip for a minute before he sprang away.

"Gotta walk, gotta walk.  Gotta see if they stalk.  Dogs will howl, if aught is on the prowl," he sang and in a heartbeat he was pounding out the door.

Rose went back up to her room and read till sleep took her.  Strayman snuck paperbacks onto her pillow — _Murder at the Vicarage, Jane Eyre, Good Omens_ — always just what she'd enjoy.  The Doctor was in there, still, a genius hidden in the dreams of a madman. 

~*?*~

Rose remembered the drab routine of her life before the Doctor.  Now, she was living with his shadow and the routine was worse than ever. Her job was grueling, greasy, hot, and demanded a lot of patience with the customers that came hard for her. The filth of the misbegotten flat got her down.  The dogs flocked round Strayman and she couldn't blame them — they seemed to understand the greater truth of him.  But she missed the Doctor.  She couldn't help her fears that she'd be stuck with Strayman forever, a few minutes of laughter at the end of a long day not enough to make up for the grind.  Surely the threat would be over soon and the Tardis would call them home.

~*?*~

Rose felt ready to kick the shit out of something. After the usual long day of rude customers with their petty grievances and demands, the till had come up short and the manager had raked her over the coals for a quarter of an hour.  God help any of Strayman's dogs if they got in her way this evening. 

She slammed into the flat, and the dogs slunk back.  They could smell her frustration and anger.

Strayman came bounding down the stairs, a broad smile on his face till he saw hers.

"What's up?" he asked, almost skidding to a halt.

"Nothing.  Nothing," Rose answered shortly, and flopped down on the sofa.

"Want curry?"  he asked gently.  He kept the takeout containers in a cardboard box so the dogs wouldn't tear into them. 

"Not hungry."  Rose folded in on herself, miserable.  What a hopeless situation.  How much longer would she have to stay here, looking the Doctor in the face and missing him so awfully?

Strayman frowned, running through his options.  "Telly?"  he offered. He hated television, Rose knew.  Rose shook her head. 

"Bath?"  he offered.  "Got soap," he said brightly. 

"Me?  You could stand a wash!" Rose retorted unkindly.  

It was almost as bad as if she'd slapped him.  His lip curled and a hint of a growl emerged before he whirled on his toe and disappeared back up the stairs, boots echoing like shots through the flat.  Several dogs barked at his passing. 

Rose raked her hair with her hands, hating the greasy, itchy feel it managed to acquire after just one day at the chip shop.  Actually, she could've used a hot, relaxing bath. It was one of the only comforts the flat afforded — he'd been kind to suggest it.

Slowly, she stood up and trudged up the stairs.  He was in the bathroom, running the tub.  She could hear him mumbling through the door, but she couldn't make out any words.  When she reached for the knob it was locked.    

Bloody hell.  Her brows contracted in a scowl. Fine then, she'd just go into her bedroom and lie down where she fell.  She fretted for a while, but the splashing and grumbling from the bathroom made a monotonous white noise that eventually wore her down, and she drifted off to a fitful sleep. 

The door creaked open and she groggily came around.   She pulled the pillow over her head.

"I'm sorry," she said into the muffle.  "I'm a wretch.  It's not your fault," she mumbled. 

She felt him pulling at the pillow and let him tug it away, then she gasped.  He was crouching by her bed, wet and naked and clean.  He smelled like honey and roses. 

"Got soap," he muttered, warily, lip ready to curl again into a snarl. Him with his clever fingers, he'd nicked a bar of fancy soap, all for her, and she'd rejected him and it, all in one angry outburst. 

"You smell great," she said, ruefully, trying to make it up to him.

"Roses and honey," he whispered.  "Roses bath of fragrant steam, honey bath of silk and cream. And oatmeal. You never know what they'll put in soap," he added. 

Laughter and tears were too closely mingled for Rose right then.  Something was bubbling up out of her chest but she wasn't sure what it would be.

"You smell like chips," Strayman said, deliberately wrinkling his nose at her. 

"Oi!" she came back weakly.

"Come on," he said. "I got what you need.  All sorted," he said, and dug for her hand among the blankets.

She let him pull her up.  He seemed completely unaware of his nakedness, so Rose tried to be modest for him, but she couldn't help looking.  His body was strong and lean, long muscles everywhere.  His clean, wet hair hung down around his ears and his scruffy beard still hid the Doctor's face from her.

"Come on, come on," he muttered, ushering her into the bath.  "Off with these," he said, pulling at her hoodie and stripping it off her.   The steamy air hung in the room, lovely with the scent of the stolen soap.  She could close her eyes and shut out the grime and the chipped tiles. 

Rose grabbed at the hem of her t shirt as he went for it.  "I can do it," she said, blushing.  Getting naked with the Doctor — she'd certainly dreamed of it — but it didn't seem right under circumstances like these.

"I wanna take care of you,"  Strayman said, his hoarse voice so soft, his look so sincere.

What would be the harm?  It was only a bath.  Strayman had never so much as hugged her.  It was just his way.  He was trying to be sweet.

She tried to let it be not such a big deal, but her heart was pounding as she let him pull off her clothes. She wouldn't let him remove the Tardis key; she never took it off. He stood back as she stepped into the tub and sat down.  The hot, fragrant water was absolute heaven. 

"Want a scrub?"  he said.  "I'll get your back."

Rose couldn't resist the offer. She curled forward, and that felt a little more modest.  Somewhere he'd found a rough flannel and filled it full of the delightful honey rose soap, bubbly and slick.  He scrubbed her back, firm and thorough.  She moaned despite her self.

"Shall I do your hair, Rose?" he asked. 

She nodded. She was lost. Every ounce of willpower had vanished once she felt his strong hand guiding the cloth across her back.  Whatever he offered, she didn't have any strength left to resist. 

He tilted her head back and used a cup to pour warm bath water over her head.  Eyes closed, she relaxed into the feel of his hand on her neck. 

He stood to find her shampoo.  She kept all her things in a little basket on the window ledge.  He had a fine arse, but she already knew that, checking out the Doctor from behind when he wasn't looking. 

He came round to the side of the tub and before she knew it, he'd stepped in and was seating himself behind her. She gave a little shriek of surprise.  The water came up higher as he settled himself, his long legs straddled to either side of her. 

Before she'd managed to come up with a proper reaction, he popped the cap on the shampoo, poured a generous helping into his hand, and began to lather her hair.  His strong fingers massaged her scalp and all thoughts fled. 

"Oh, that feels so good, Doctor," Rose said, then blushed hot with shame. She was taking advantage.

"I'm a poet, not a doctor," Strayman muttered.  "You always get that wrong."

"Maybe you're both," Rose answered.

"Here's to your health, Rose,  just fine without your clothes.  Soapy and slick and wet, a woman I like to pet,"  he crooned. 

These rhymes of his would be burned into her brain forever.  Would the Doctor even remember?  Rose could only sit there, his hands in her hair taking her apart thought by thought. 

"Honey and suds and Rose, me without my clothes, hot in the water, watch out for your daughters," Strayman recited carelessly as he worked his fingers against her scalp.

By the time he reached out for the cup again to rinse her hair, Rose was nearly limp.  He poured the water till her hair was clean. She loved the feel of it trickling down her neck, and she shivered.

"Water's going cold," he said.  "Out with you." 

He climbed out of the tub and Rose looked up at him.  He'd been a perfect gentleman, but his body betrayed his interest in hers.  She hastily looked away as he helped her stand, and he stood there dripping while he rubbed her gently with the towel.

Strayman had made quite a puddle on the floor, and as she stepped out of the tub, her foot slipped in the water.  Lightning fast, he caught her to him before she could fall.  The two of them stood, caught, just a thin towel trapped between their bodies.  She could feel his erection through the terry cloth.  He'd kept back a safe distance from her in the tub. 

"Rose," he moaned, pulling her closer.  He buried his face in her neck, breathing in deeply. 

She felt stupid, her thoughts thick as treacle.  His nose was pressed behind her ear. 

"Crack, fragile frame, devoured by the flame of the lust in these veins, let go the reins and fly, high, up into the sky of my desire..." he murmured.

Whose mind was it, the mind of this poet Strayman? Was it the Doctor? Would his wild energy and boundless creativity have driven him out of society as it had Strayman?  It had, already, hadn't it? Hadn't he been an outcast, a runaway, hadn't his own people disowned him as a failure?  Rose couldn't conceive of a world in which the Doctor wasn't lauded as their greatest Hero, but here he was, stripped of his Time Lord identity, beautiful and free and quite, quite mad.

"Rose, you smell fantastic," he said clearly.

Rose nearly choked, pushing back from him.  Confusion and hurt flickered across his face, and Rose couldn't do it.  She couldn't let him be so considerate and good to her and then disappoint him, not when she wanted him, who he was really, so very much.

"Strayman, do you want to lie down with me?"  she asked, her voice shaking. 

"Nah," he said. 

No?  Oh.  Rose hadn't expected that.  Well then.

"I'll tell you what I want," he said.  "Come." 

He took her by the hand, a hand she'd never refused, one she wasn't sure she was capable of refusing.  He darted into her room and grabbed her blanket, then twirled her and dragged her up to the garret, where he spent his time marking on the walls.

He threw the blanket down on the big pile of loose newspapers that rattled in the center of the empty room. The four white walls were covered with his marks, most of which she couldn't decipher, the spirals and circles and twists of ancient Gallifreyan.

"Lie down," he said, so she did, lying flat on the blanket, the rustling newspapers softening the floor. He lay down beside her.

"Look," he said.  The walls shimmered with his sketches, nebulae she recognized; the door outlined in Tardis blue, her flashing light drawn in above;  sketches of faces from his past; a long striped scarf  that she'd seen on the coattree in the library; an orange planet, consumed by flames of red; monsters she knew of, domes and eyestalks, and ones she didn't; and everywhere, spiralling round and round, the kaleidoscope of Gallifreyan that spilled like shards of stained glass out of his dreams and onto the wall.

"What is it?" he whispered.  "I hear music, a voice:   'Everything must come to dust.  The Time War ends.'  That's not a  proper poem, is it, Rose?  What does it mean?"

His blue eyes were tortured, desperate.  How could she explain?

"I can't explain," she said.

"This key," he said, touching her Tardis key on its chain. "It's the key to me, the key of being free, the key to eternity — yeah?"

"Yeah," she whispered. 

His eyes closed in relief.  "I thought so.  It sounds like a vast machine, grinding, when I look at it."

"Yeah," she agreed again. 

"Rose, my dear, I'm here, I'm here, but I'm so full of fear, I need you near," he sang, so soft she could hardly hear him.

"I'm here, Strayman," she said.

"Is that really my name?" he whispered. 

"In a way, I think it is," she answered.

"Okay," he agreed.  He nuzzled into her neck and she turned on her side towards him.

"I want to be closer to you," he said. 

"Okay," she answered.  There was something so free and direct in the way he spoke.  She could get used to not dancing around everything.

"I want to get so close that I'm inside you.  Will I, will I hurt you if I do that?"  he asked, brows furrowed in concern.

"No, no, I promise you won't hurt me,"  she said.

"The bitches yowl something awful when the man dogs do it," he said, still frowning.

She grinned and touched his face, unspeakably moved by the way he pressed his cheek against her palm.

"If I yowl," she said, "and I might, it'll be because I'll like it. You might yowl too." 

"Alright," he said, dismissing his concerns. 

If she thought he might kiss her then, she was wrong. He pushed her back onto her back and straddled her on all fours, his knees on either side of her waist, his manhood flushed and teasing her so near where it belonged. 

"I want to smell you," he said.  "I want to taste you.  You're so much nicer than biscuits or lager or chips, and I want you on my tongue, where your glories can be sung."

She shivered at his unleashed words. Would the Doctor be this way?  It was too much to worry about.  Strayman was here now, and he deserved her to be with him, not with the shadow that hung round him on the walls. 

Strayman nuzzled into her neck, his beard soft, and she moaned as he nipped at her.  He gathered up her hands and placed them above her head, growling when she moved.  He began to explore her with his nose and mouth and tongue, just as he had promised.  Her neck she offered up obediently, thrilling at his growls of dominance.  He nipped his way along her jaw and seized her throat on the other side, growling as he lightly shook his head.  Chills of delight ran through her from head to toe, and she had to force herself to lie still for him.

His fingers danced along her inner arms, exposed above her head.  She moaned, and he smiled, sharp teeth showing.  "Skin to skin, and arm in arm, you'll be letting me in, I'll be keeping you from harm," he chanted.  He nuzzled her armpits.

"Bare," he said, brows drawn together. 

"I shave them," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Should I shave too?" he said, as if he found it distasteful.

She shook her head doubtfully, but he'd already moved on.  He spent a long time at her breasts, suckling and stroking each one, till her nipples ached with need.  He moved slowly down her belly, licking and growling and nipping at her till she was fairly delirious. 

Finally he was kneeling between her knees, hands on each hip, peering closely at her sex.

"Will it grow out of you, like the man dogs?"  he asked, curious. 

"No," Rose grinned.  "What you see is what you get." 

"Ah.  Smells fantastic," he said, a brilliant grin on his face. The word barely stung and then his mouth was on her, teasing. 

"Salt and iron, blood and lust, I'll make a feast of you, won't I just!"  he sang triumphantly.  His clever fingers held her open and he stared down at her, deliberately sniffing.  His tongue darted out,  licking along her folds. She couldn't even squirm, held in place by his wiry strength. 

"The more of you I lick, the more you get slick!" he exclaimed. 

Rose was panting, moaning with pleasure.  She'd never expected that Strayman, in his innocent curiosity, would be so tantalizingly thorough. 

Then he lowered his head between her thighs and lifted them up onto his shoulders. His tongue darted between her arse cheeks. 

"Dogs love arse," he murmured.  He gave a few wet swipes as she squirmed, arse clenching.

"I prefer the front," he said, decidedly. Grinning manically, he added, "sweet, juicy cunt!" 

"Strayman!" Rose laughed. "Some women don't like that word!"

"Do you?" he asked.

"I don't mind when you say it," Rose blushed. 

He didn't bother saying it again, preferring to dive back in with his mouth and tongue, licking and sucking but without any intent on getting Rose where she needed to go. 

"Strayman, Strayman," she moaned at last. 

"Yes, Rose?" he answered, all proper, his mouth and chin shiny with her fluids.

"Please, get inside me," she asked. 

"Okay," he said, sitting back. He never did what she expected.

He flipped her over and pulled her arse back toward him.  Of course: doggy style. 

"Oh, this is lovely, this is," he growled.  "Your arse, so wide and soft, and this inviting little door, hung with soft curtains for me to slip in between." 

She felt his fingers, tracing up from between her folds, gathering her moisture, testing the way.  

"Please, please," she begged. 

"Don't worry, there's no hurry.  Turn of the earth, death and birth, my body and yours, we throw wide these doors,"  he sang, moving into position, nudging at her entrance. 

"Oh, please, I want it!" she begged.  She'd been waiting so long, so long, it seemed, since the moment she'd first held his hand, and then trapped here, immured in these walls, confused by this uncanny disguise, slagging through the dirt and the monotony, until finally she'd begun to lose hope.  But he was always the same man.  Always.  As he gently, inexorably slid inside her, she knew him, and only wished she knew the name he'd hidden so long ago, so she could help him reclaim it with her cries of joy.

"Oh, oh!" she shouted as he pulled her arse tightly against him and held her there.  She felt her muscles pulse around him as she ascended to bliss.

"Go ahead and yowl,"  he sang through gritted teeth, "whilst I fuck you and growl."   He let her slip forward a little and gave a sharp bark as he pulled her back on him. 

"Oh!" Rose yowled obligingly.  Inside her, the places he touched ached for more.  He held her so tightly and moved so commandingly, she had no option but to take it just as he offered. 

"Sweet Rose," he said. "Sit up here.  Turn your sweet face, my dear.  Let me touch you in front, your wet little cunt," he whispered naughtily into her ear when he'd raised her up. 

He was kneeling now and she was sitting back onto his lap.  One hand played lazily at her breasts, gently pulling the nipples until she shuddered, and the other lay lightly over her sex, where he'd stroke now and then, making her cry out, and he'd bark in delight.  He moved inside her deliberately, gracefully, like a dance he'd practiced countless times.  How could he be so perfect?  How could he make it feel so incredibly good?

Rose was so far beyond words now, and he was still whispering his poetry in her ear, his soft beard tickling her neck. 

"Rose, fly apart now, take my heart now, take me inside where I don't have to hide!"   His growls deepened as finally, he lost control of his thrusts.

Maneuvering her back down onto all fours, he took her hips in his hands again.

"Ready?"  he asked.

"Yes!" she screamed.  She'd already come so many times, it felt like one continuous ecstasy. 

Braced for it, her hands on the blankets, Rose shoved back against his thrusts, mind blown with pleasure.  

"Rose!  My Rose!" he shouted, and emptied inside her. 

Slowly they sank down onto the blanket, covered in sweat and grinning at one another. 

"We'll need another bath, eh?" she said.

"Your key is glowing," he pointed out.

"Oh my god," Rose said, as the truth of the world crashed back down around her. 

~*?*~

"You had your wicked way with me," the Doctor said, a gleam in his eye. 

"You! You! You had me doggy style!" Rose shouted in mock outrage. 

"It's going to be different, now," he said, pulling her tightly against him.  Back on the Tardis, back in his proper clothes, shaven and shorn, he was once again the man she'd longed to give her heart to, but still there, inside him, was the man who'd accepted it.  
   
"Different?  Like, alien different?"  Rose asked.

"Yeah," the Doctor said.  "But I don't think you'll be disappointed."

"Let's find out," Rose suggested.

"Yes, let's," the Doctor agreed.

So they did, and Rose was never disappointed. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
